A Dowry Of Eggshells or Saturn in Retrograde by Justin Walsh
Now let’s see if I remember
What went on that cold September night.
As I began to recollect the tragedy
Within this scrambled egg of mine.
From being born to when he died,
That child always spoke in rhyme,
Until that is I stitched his mouth with twine.
Well then he wrote his riddles down
On some paper that he found,
Hiding in the second bureau drawer.
They weren’t verses of love and laughter
Or about the life there after,
Like all the other poets wrote.
Some of them could be quite scary
Of a boy who was so lonely
And who felt that he was all alone
Late at night is when I’d catch him
Scribblin’ the most peculiar patterns
That made me for one want to run and hide.
I’d lie awake and hear him laughin’
Or was it he was really cryin’?
I could never truly be quite sure of that.
Then one night I found a poem
Hiding in the second bureau drawer.
So at once I read it out,
Thunder crashing all around,
It seems a storm raged overhead.
Now let’s see if I remember,
I think it kind of went a little bit like this,
How they sniggered at the king,
Whose throne was obviously too big,
And crown was much too small.
They had boots they used for kicking
When the king was down and all alone,
He had been unwittingly,
Worn his crown majestically.
Come behold the one and only
King of Fools!
Unfortunately the poem ended there
And so I stopped to catch my breath,
And ponder on the verse that I had read.
Suddenly I felt a presence,
‘Will you never learn your lesson.’
A child’s voice echoed round the room.
I spun around missing my footing,
Sprawling on the carpet cut ‘n stuff,
That little brat he rasped with hate.
‘You fool you gazed into your fate.
The darkness of my secrets are disguised
For if you look too deep inside
And you don’t like what you find
Hiding in the shadows from the light.’
Screaming ‘Stop!’ I ran at him,
Just to end his twisted din
And with a crack I snapped the neck
That held his head so high.
Well not much more can I remember.
But a dream I had on that September night
Sticks in my mind,
Sitting on a crimson throne in the middle of a pool
Of laughter, that rang in my ears,
Was a king with tearful eyes,
That took me quite by surprise
When he asked me for help.
‘Help!’ he cried and ‘Help!’ again.
‘Won’t you help a drowning man.
Hurry up there ‘aint no time to waste.’
Paralysed and terrified I simply gazed into his eyes,
The reflections I recognised as being that of my own,
As being that of my own,
As being that of my own.
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